


Wander In The Shade

by karuvapatta



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Laurent's POV, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Kings Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6301402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Laurent is tired of the summer heat and Damen is tired of not having enough time for Laurent. Set a few days after "Kings Rising".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wander In The Shade

**Author's Note:**

> I finished reading KR a couple of days ago AND I HAVE ALL THESE FEELINGS. So here's a short ficlet, hope you will like it! ^_^
> 
> Many, many thanks to [thorduna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNefer/pseuds/thorduna), who was kind enough to beta it for me. (And also wrote a CP fic, go read it [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5970160))

The height of Akielon summer hit the city later that week. Laurent stalked the shadows of the Palace whenever he wasn't involved in state business, and pressed himself to the cool, white stone, if he was certain no-one could see him. It was a moment of weakness that the newly crowned King of Vere could not afford to show.

But then Damen blinked at him, frowned in confusion, and said, "This is not yet the worst of it."

The evenings were a little more bearable. There were sounds of revelry all throughout Ios – not all citizens knew or cared about politics, but that would not stop them from celebrating. The whole city was alight with oil lamps and candles, and the music carried up, even to the wide balcony of the King's quarters. It was, however, a little more peaceful , and so Laurent came here whenever he felt his absence would not harm his precarious new position.

Everything here was so simple: the low balustrade was a block of white stone, curving gently, and separating the sheer drop of the cliffs from the mosaicked floor. Veretians would put elaborate latticework over here, creating a pleasing pattern of lights and shadows on the floor. Not here. Laurent brushed his hand over the smooth stone and decided that there was beauty in the simplicity of it. For one thing, it did not distract from the view.

Arles was nowhere near the coastline, and so he drank in the unfamiliar sight of the ocean. The waves, cresting near the stony beach, breaking into white spray, only to hit the jagged rocks, or to travel further inland, before they receded; and the never-still expanse of water, pitch-black at this hour, and thousands shades of blue during the day.

He heard the curtain being drawn, then soft footsteps behind him. He forced himself to remain still, half-draped over the balustrade, in the most studiously regal pose he could manage. But, in the fleeting second it took for him to compose himself, Damen must have noticed the tension in his back.

"Do you wish to be left alone?" Damen asked. A few days ago, he would not bother with such pleasantries. But now he had reasons to be cautious around Laurent. 

"No," Laurent said. A heartbeat later, a warm, heavy hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

They stood in silence, tired. Tired of the never-ending debates, edicts to sign, allies to win over and enemies to weed out. Everyone’s emotions were still running high after the spectacle that was their joint ascension, but it would burn out quickly, giving way to cold calculation.  Soon enough, they would see what they managed to build in the short time given to them. And whether or not it would last.

"You've mentioned a summer palace," Laurent said.

Damen laughed in simple delight, his broad chest pressing to Laurent's back, and his arms wrapped possessively around Laurent's middle. His flimsy Akielon garments weren't much of a barrier, against the elements, or the growing warmth in the pit of Laurent's stomach.

"We could steal away in the middle of the night," Damen said. "It's two days ride, but I think we could manage in less than that."

"Excellent," Laurent said. "You steal the horses, I distract the guards."

"How?" Damen asked, a touch suspiciously.

"Oh, it'll be a surprise," Laurent said smugly, mostly so that he could feel Damen's hands grip him a little tighter. 

It was strange, so strange. They stood in silence, listening to the rushing waves, the wind, the distant sounds of revelry. Damen held him like it was just that, _simple_ , as natural to him as combat. Or kingship, which settled easily onto his broad shoulders. It fitted him, moulded itself to him, like it would for Auguste. But Laurent struggled to fill a form too big for him, with sharp jagged edges that he talked and lied and cajoled his way around, but which would never fully disappear.

And that was just his first week.

"Come to bed," Damen said softly.

"A moment ago you wanted to plan our escape," Laurent reminded him.

"And now I want to bed you." Damen pressed a kiss to Laurent's neck, his lips impossibly soft.

Laurent was used to such invitations, spoken in the most elegant verses, or just crude demands. Vulgarity had its charm: no lies spun around it, no empty promises, no false declarations of love. But it was something new entirely to realize he _wanted_ to answer this particular request, he really did. He would shiver in anticipation if he wasn't forcibly holding himself still.

He let Damen kiss him, and felt himself flush at his own inexperience. He reached out to card his fingers through Damen's soft dark curls, the shell of his ear, his wide jaw; their noses bumped together, their lips losing contact only to find it again. Deeper this time, more insistent, driven by a single purpose. As were Damen's wandering hands.

"Is this the graceful courtship you once promised me?" Laurent asked. It took effort to keep his voice steady and his arms relaxed, when he yearned to wrap them tight around Damen and never let go.

"I already gave you gifts. Jewellery…" Damen said, sliding their hands together. Two matching gold cuffs, slave's cuffs, adorned their wrists. "A fort, a kingdom…" 

"You didn't give me Vere, it was mine by right," Laurent said calmly.

"I wasn't talking about Vere," Damen said, just as calmly. 

Laurent startled. He was quite sure none of the surprise showed in his face, but Damen had a way of coaxing responses out of him. All kinds of responses, to be perfectly honest.

_Don't think_ , Damen had told him. It was sound advice to follow right now, because no matter how hard he thought, he could find nothing to say. Instead, he wrapped his fingers loosely around Damen’s hand and took the few steps from the balcony, beneath the arched passageway, and to the royal bed chamber. It was brighter here, the starry sky replaced with an unadorned ceiling, the candles burning low. Damen walked by his side, running his thumb over Laurent’s knuckles. His smile was brilliant, soft, coloured with anticipation; Laurent returned it, quite helplessly.

Chambers had been prepared for Laurent, nearly as opulent as Damen's own. He saw them once and never set foot in them again. It was becoming a problem: it was unseemly, against protocol, that they slept in the same bed while negotiating peace between their two countries. And, in the King's chambers, there were two banners hanging side-by-side on the plain wall: the lion and the starburst, red and blue. This was a problem, too. It confused people. They didn't know who was in charge, and while the Veretian Council swallowed it down, the people of Akielos were used to a much stricter hierarchy. Perhaps they could—

"Laurent," Damen said. Short, commanding; like a King. 

"Yes, Exalted?"  Laurent asked, turning his attention back to the handsome face and dark eyes, and found himself unable to look away.

Damen shivered. He looked a little lost, hands reaching out, drawing Laurent further into his embrace. Laurent wasn't used to this kind of vulnerability, not from a man of Damen's power and status, who now held him like something precious and fragile.

"I am not made of glass," he heard himself say. Irritated; it sounded better that way.

He knew what it was about. It hung between them, in the heated air. Whenever he felt Damen's hands on him, he knew what he was thinking, what he was remembering. And he was sick of it, sick of the world spinning madly around them, bigger and stranger than Laurent expected it to be.

But they were alone now. Just him and Damianos: the man who killed Auguste. The man who chose Laurent over his own kingdom.

Damen's lips pressed to his, the warm candlelight painting his skin gold. It was really unfair, how beautiful he was.

"Your Majesty," Damen said.

Perhaps they had no right to call themselves that. They were selfish creatures, both of them.

He pushed back at Damen's shoulders, forcing him down on the bed.  The sheets were red, of course they were, and for a moment Damen looked wrong against them. Laurent felt sick to his stomach, but he tried to chase the feeling away, kissing Damen, running his hands down the muscular torso, the dark skin, the bandages that covered the place where Damen had been stabbed mere days ago.

Again, he shivered. In his mind, Damen was still lying in the pool of his own blood, red as the sheets. Kastor stood above him, about to deliver the final blow. If it fell—if it did—Damen would be dead. And Laurent knew how it felt, the terrible grief. Stalking the empty corridors, jumping at every shadow, expecting Auguste; and he was lonely, he was so terrified and alone. He remembered, with perfect clarity, everything he did just for the safety and comfort of having someone's arms around him, sheltering him. It was a kind of love, a twisted kind, and it demanded a price he wasn't ready to pay.

But he paid it.

Damen wasn't like that. Damen didn't want anything from him; at least, not anything Laurent wasn't willing to give. Still he rebelled, his body tensing at Damen's gentle touch, panic gripping his throat.

"Laurent," Damen spoke, his movements stilled.

It wouldn't work. He laid his head down on Damen's breast and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Damen's skin. Large hand carded through his hair, which seemed to be a never-ending source of fascination for Damen; one of these days, he might ask to be allowed to braid them.  

Damen's chest expanded slightly with every breath. The slow, soothing motions helped ease the jumbled mass of thoughts in Laurent's head. Or maybe it was Damen's hand wrapped loosely around him.

The bandages were rougher than Damen's skin, and they wrapped tightly around his middle. Laurent tied them himself, more often than was strictly necessary, just to see the sappy look on Damen's utterly transparent face. And it gave them a moment alone, an excuse to breathe, away from the Veretian Council and Akielon kyroi, all of whom made constant demands on their time. It grated on Laurent's nerves, as Damen still hadn't had the chance to heal properly. He hadn't yet made the trip to the Kingsmeet for his own crowning; he wasn't yet allowed to mourn his father in peace.

"I want to see that Summer Palace," Laurent murmured, running his fingers over the bandages and up, to Damen's ribcage, the defined muscle, the dark nipple that peaked slightly at his teasing touch.

Damen shivered, his voice dropping an octave or two when Laurent's questing fingers began their journey downwards. "We leave at dawn."

Laurent smirked. It occurred to him that the King of Akielos should not be this easily manipulated.

But then again, the same could be said for the King of Vere.


End file.
